


In Your Dreams

by llorolalluvia



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dubious Consent, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-20
Updated: 2018-05-18
Packaged: 2019-03-21 19:49:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 22,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13748028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/llorolalluvia/pseuds/llorolalluvia
Summary: Concerned about Harry's nightmares, Hermione discovers a potion that allows one to enter another's dreams. Well, Harry isn't the only one having nightmares and Hermione might be in over her head.





	1. Chapter 1

He wasn't eating again.

Hermione watched as Harry picked listlessly at his porridge; his scar standing out like a flame against the drained pallor of his skin. They were getting worse.

She and Ron had been trying all summer to convince Harry to confide in them about his nightmares, but he only pretended they didn't exist. Didn't he understand that they were a team? That his friends were there to help him? That he didn't have to go it alone? Well she was no fool, and if he wasn't going to allow her to help him, he really couldn't blame her when she found a way to do it on her own.

When Harry finally took his porridge to the sink and left the room, Hermione waited a minute in guilty anticipation. She really should not have been as nervous about this as she was, considering her motives. And yet, the secrecy of the matter did require a bit of sneaking on her part. It wasn't as if she were unaccustomed to sneaking; just that she had never had cause to do so around her friends. After a moment, sure that Harry was not about to reenter the kitchen, Hermione took her own empty bowl to the sink and made her way around the table to Harry's vacated place. There, just below where his head had been bent in weary torment, was one long, dark hair. She breathed a sigh of relief and gently plucked it from the table to examine. The ease of her success wrought a laugh from her lips and she practically skipped from the room. But just as she leapt over the threshold, who should appear but one exhausted-looking Professor Snape? And she smashed right into him.

"Damn it Granger!"

"Sorry!"

She stepped aside to let him pass and found, to her horror, that the hair was gone.  _Shite!_

He sniffed the air as he passed, wrinkling his nose in disgust. "A bit early to be preparing for your N.E.W.T.s, don't you think?"

Hermione was momentarily taken aback. It was true that she had already begun preparation for that ultimate goal at the end of this coming school year, but what on earth gave it away? "Excuse me?" she asked, baffled. Most of her mind was occupied searching his robes with her eyes for that lost hair.

He raised one eyebrow in mockery. "You reek of potions, Granger. I am well familiar with the scent."  _Oh gods_ , was it that obvious? No. Only someone with a nose as large and practiced as his could have smelled her secret. No one else seemed to notice.

Hermione smiled helplessly up at him and shrugged her shoulders. "Are you really surprised?"

He snorted slightly at that and seemed to accept her answer, sweeping past her into the kitchen at last. To her disbelieving relief, he slipped out of the long teaching robes and draped them over a chair as he headed toward the sink.  _Thank Merlin for summer heat!_ She didn't have a moment to spare for second thoughts as he rifled through one of the cabinets for a glass. Practically leaping over to his chair, she turned the robes so that she could see the front and ran her finger along the fabric in search of that one, dark hair. One glance at Snape showed him inspecting the glass and raising his wand to it.

" _Scourgify_ ," she heard him mumble. Then the sink was running, filling his glass up with cool water. And  _there_  was the hair! She grabbed it as Snape was turning around and leapt through the kitchen door, narrowly missing Kingsley Shacklebolt as he swaggered in for the upcoming Order meeting. Before any other obstacles could rob her of her painstakingly acquired prize, Hermione dashed up to her room, pulled the cauldron out from under her bed, and threw the hair inside. Immediately, the steaming brew turned the proper shade of deep maroon and Hermione sighed in relief. Phase One was now complete!

Now she had only to wait for nightfall.

…*~*J*~*…

It was two in the morning, but Hermione was too nervous to sleep. She stared down at the parchment where she had made her calculations. Two hours of dreams for every ounce of potion. 64 ounces of potion. Harry's nightmares—according to Ron (a dubitable source at best, taking into account his own deep sleep)—began around two or three in the morning. On a good day, Harry generally woke up around nine in the morning. Supposing that she needed to remain within the dream until he woke of his own accord, she could assume that that would require up to seven hours. Therefore, she should drink three and a half ounces of the potion. Now there was only to do it. Well, it certainly wouldn't do to linger in hesitance and allow his nightmares to overtake him. So, with that in mind, she finally measured out the correct quantity of potion and downed it in two disgusted gulps. Well, it wasn't Polyjuice, but the sweet, milky taste of the brew still made her cringe.

Before she knew it, she was suddenly falling, and everything around her screamed of panic. The very air was dark and twisted, writhing like snakes as she fell into its midst. When she hit the ground, she felt no pain.

The arena of his nightmares was a grand hall with an arching ceiling into which she now stared. The marble tile was freezing at her back, as if sucked of heat by a Dementor's kiss. Suddenly, she became aware of screaming, as if a veil had been lifted and she was seeing clearly at last. The anguish was tangible and seemed to rip through her very heart. All around, Death Eaters came into view, surrounding her and the figure beside her on the floor. Finally, she looked at him. And he was not Harry.

Hermione Granger had seen some horrors in her young life, but nothing before this point could compare to seeing Severus Snape thrashing violently beneath the torturing hands of Death Eaters and pleading for his life. The unprecedented image was so unnatural and unexpected that it lashed her with fear and pain for the creature who was her professor. She was terrified.

Then, without warning, his eyes met hers. And it was as if a trigger had been pulled. "No!" he shouted through the haze of cackling Death Eaters. Suddenly, he was standing among them, pointing his wand down at her, and  _she_  was the one screaming, very much in pain. 'You shouldn't be here!' his thoughts attacked her, though his lips refused to move. 'Stupid, meddlesome, foolish girl!' She wasn't sure if he meant 'in the room' or 'in the dream.' 'Your senseless bravery will cost you your life!'

'Do it!' another voice screamed over the others. Its icy hiss sent a shiver down her spine, like the caress of an evil tongue.

And then her Professor's lips did move, and he raised his wand. She knew what was happening before it could happen, but she was powerless to stop it. ' _Avada Kedavra!_ ' There was a flash of green and a feeling of nothingness before everything went black.

…*~*J*~*…

Hermione stared down at the empty vial that had rolled across the blankets in her slumber.  _Snape's hair._  "How could I have been so  _stupid?_ " It had been Snape's hair on his robes. How many times was she fated to pluck erroneous hairs from peoples' robes for potion purposes before she finally learned her lesson?

She took a deep breath and suddenly the tension in her shattered with a terrible sob and she collapsed back against the covers. What she had seen in Snape's dreams could not be unseen. The horror of it still seemed to echo on the night air. Somehow, she had gotten past the famous Occlumens' shields and seen a side of him that he showed to no one. It was beyond disturbing to know what her professor would look like tortured senseless by his fellow Death Eaters. But more than that, she now knew that Professor Snape had nightmares too. That behind his stubborn, proud façade, the unsung hero of the Order of the Phoenix was deeply afraid of his own increasingly likely demise. Somehow, knowing that made him seem so… human. It made her uneasy. Though she had always respected and even admired Snape for what he did for the Order, she had never quite realized what that actually meant. Now, it was painfully etched behind her eyelids in vivid detail. She could not forget it.

Nor could she forget the way he'd pointed his wand down at her, cursing her in his mind as he obeyed his dark master and murdered her on the spot. She shivered. Even supposing that it was a nightmare and that he was seeing his own worst fears, his unhesitating resolve was cruel and painful. It twisted in her stomach, because she knew that even though it wasn't real, it really was. Somewhere, right now, the man who had stared unblinkingly down at her as he killed her with two words had just had a terrible dream in which he'd been forced to do just that. And he hadn't hesitated.

…*~*J*~*…

It took another week to brew the potion again. She kept the one with Snape's hair just in case, but was afraid to even consider using it again. This time, she was more careful about the hair she chose, sneaking into Harry's bedroom and stealing it off his pillow. She didn't need another disaster, like last time.

This experiment was far more successful. Inside of Harry's mind, she felt the torment and overwhelming fear that she had sensed from him in the past several months. And there was an anxious feeling of responsibility that made her heart ache. She landed in a graveyard—presumably the graveyard where Voldemort had returned just over two years ago—and all around her were Death Eaters. She took a moment to wonder ironically at the similarities between Harry's dream and that of their professor. But as Voldemort neared the boy, she knew she had to stop him before he spoke. Concentrating very hard, as her readings had told her to do, she imagined the Hogwarts grounds in springtime and the way the giant squid liked to sunbathe in the shallows. Voldemort struggled to remain, but quickly tumbled away as she conjured up memories of the Trio together, laughing. She suggested Harry play Quidditch and watched him soar across the Hogwarts lawn. And when the darkness threatened to interrupt, she banished it quickly and brought Ginny into the dream. Peace wafted over the windblown grass and Hermione sat back to allow the rest of his dream to unfold.

Every night for a week, she did this, and she noted that her best friend seemed much improved. His complexion had a healthy glow, the bags were gone from beneath his eyes, and he was eating again. When they talked together, he laughed. When they worried, he stood strong. He had finally regained his confidence as the leader they so desperately needed him to be.

But something seemed wrong. Something was bothering her, in the back of her mind. And it wasn't until the next Order meeting that she realized what it was. They were allowed to sit in on this one, as they often were when there was nothing of consequence to report, and Hermione noted with increasing unease that Professor Snape seemed to be studying her. Did he know what she had done? That she knew what he had dreamed? That she had been there? Or was that still her secret?

…*~*J*~*…

That night, Hermione sat on her bed, staring down at two identical vials. One would take her into Harry's dreams, as it had done every night for a week. The other would take her back into her professor's mind, and even the thought of that made fear prickle at her nerves. But she had grown more confident the more experience she had controlling Harry's dreams. And part of her felt that she had unfinished business with the professor. Perhaps, if she were able to help him, too, she would no longer feel so helplessly forlorn. After all, if it was in her power to soothe the man, shouldn't she do it? And maybe… if she were able to bring him peace… maybe next time… he would hesitate.

The same dark chaos reigned when Hermione fell to the cold marble floor, but the sounds were immediately apparent, and he noticed her the moment that she landed. It almost seemed, strangely enough, as if he had been waiting for her. Then, the visions of Death Eaters around them seemed to blur and their shouts dimmed to faraway cries as he reached toward her with one weak arm across the floor. All her plans to dissolve the hall with daylight and remind him of a bird's song on the breeze fell by the wayside with that one gesture, and she reached for him as well.

When their hands connected, the scene disappeared with a snap and they stood in darkness, their arms wrapped around one another. And he wept into her hair. For a moment, she was merely unnerved by this unprecedented display of emotion from the austere professor. But then, remembering that he was safe in his own dreams, she felt a surge of something akin to triumph. She had freed him! Happily, she hugged him tighter against her. It felt weird to be so close to Snape, to feel his body against her own. Somehow, it was different from hugging Harry or Ron. And she knew without a doubt that he never would have allowed this in reality. But here, the rules were different.

Hermione's hands rubbed soothing circles on her professor's back through the soft wool of his coat, and then snuck upward in awe to touch his hair before returning to the bare skin of his shoulders. He was heavier than she would have expected, she realized as her back pressed into the sturdy cushion of a large mattress. When he lifted himself to look down at her, cold dungeon air wafted across her naked breasts. Before she could register surprise, he was kissing her neck and pressing his bare body desperately against hers, kneading her breasts with long fingers as he kneed his way between her thighs.

She looked down in horror as he thrust himself inside her, and she suddenly felt the piercing pain of sex as he broke past her virginity and began to fuck her slowly atop the bed. She started to panic, grabbing his arms, but before she could tell him to stop, his mouth came down on hers, swallowing her objection with a kiss. The reality of what was taking place began to dawn on her as he thrust harder and faster against her and moaned into her mouth. Then, suddenly, with one last thrust, he froze above her, crying out. And upon his face was an expression so vulnerable in such an opposing way to the agony and sadness she had seen before that she was mystified. It was ecstasy. And as he came, he met her eye, and suddenly she was waking up in her bed at 12 Grimmauld Place, shivering.


	2. Chapter 2

Severus started awake, shaken by the force of an incredible orgasm. It was not unusual for him to wake in the middle of the night with his heart pounding furiously in his chest, but it was very odd indeed to have had a pleasant dream.  _What the fuck was that?_  Had he really just dreamt about sex with Hermione Granger? Severus had to shake his head, throwing the sheets off and cleaning himself up before slipping out of bed and dragging himself into the bathroom.

Looking at himself in the mirror, he almost laughed out loud with the absurdity of it all. Not once in all his years of teaching had he dreamt about sex with a student. Hell, it was rare enough for him to dream about sex at all. But clearly there must be a logical explanation.

Severus relieved his bladder, allowing his mind to wander, and then moved to the sink. The cold water running over his hands helped to wash away the emotion surging through him until all that was left were the facts. Hermione Granger had appeared in one of his nightmares several nights ago. He had already analyzed that. She had been behaving rather oddly that day, and it was natural for his subconscious to cling to the suspicion she provoked and call upon her in a dream. The fact that he had killed her came as no surprise—he often had dreams like that about fellow Order members—but her reaction had bothered him quite a bit. Usually, in such dreams, his associates pleaded with him to spare them—as if the choice were his—or cursed him with all the accusations he'd heard over the years. It hadn't even been the first time he had dreamt of Miss Granger in that scenario. But never before had any of them looked at him as she had.

Raw, unconcealed, heartbreaking fear. That is what he had seen in her eyes. Hurt. And sadness; a profound hopelessness and understanding of her own position. It was as if she had known there was nothing he could do. It was acceptance of her own fate, despite her clawing desperation to avoid it.

He had wondered for a long time what that must mean. Was his unconscious mind trying to tell him that he underestimated the girl? For years she had been the only Gryffindor who truly believed he was innocent. Was he still clinging to that last bit of faith to prove that he was not yet lost? But then he reminded himself that the dreams in which his acquaintances spewed endless tirades of accusation and guilt were far less painful than the one he'd had of Granger. It was as if having them blame him for their own ends made it somehow easier for him to do. He could hate them if they hated him back.

But Granger hadn't hated him. She believed in him. She had known the truth; that he had to sacrifice her for the good of the Cause, in order to keep his position as a spy. And that petty excuse for murder was a harder bite to swallow. It broke through his carefully constructed psychological defenses, as none of the other dreams had been able to do, and made him feel… guilty.

For several days, he had been more afraid of sleeping than he had been in ages, but he hadn't dreamt of her again. And soon he'd gotten back into the rhythm of traditional, terrifying nightmares without the twisting stab of remorse.

And then he'd seen her at the Order meeting earlier that very day. Hermione Granger; the Brains of the Golden Trio; the bushy-haired, know-it-all, hand-waving nuisance. The epithets rolled right off his tongue like a cliché, they were so second-nature. Only, this time, he had really looked at her; past the hair, past the freckles, past the infantile way she sat with her legs beneath her in the chair. And he had suddenly realized that Hermione Granger was a much more complicated person than he had ever given her credit for being. That annoying, youthful excitement she seemed to direct at any and all new information was tempered by a keen skepticism for words unsupported by evidence. Her inevitable interjections of opinion did not completely unveil her thoughts; only the parts she wanted on the table. And he would be lying if he said that he hadn't suddenly noticed the curvaceous figure of a woman she had developed while he wasn't looking.

When she had appeared in his dream again tonight, something changed. Where usually he would have immediately cast himself as her murderer, he hesitated. And something about her presence brought a peacefulness that gave him strength to fend off the nightmare, somehow. Was it any wonder, then, that he had been drawn to her? The comfort and acceptance that seemed to emanate from the girl was at such odds to the harsh accusation of his usual nightmares that he'd found himself broken down by it. Understandably, sexual desire was adjacent to the affection she had shown him, and his long-dormant hormones took full advantage of the crack in his emotional shields.

Yes, he nodded to himself, it made perfect sense, really.

As he slipped back beneath the sheets, hoping for a few more hours before consciousness beckoned again, Severus found himself hoping for more dreams of  _her._

…*~*J*~*…

Hermione had not been able to get back to sleep all night. Her brain seemed keen to analyze every teensy detail of the dream and its implications. First and foremost on her mind was the fact that it had felt so real. Or, at least, she  _thought_  it had… but it was hard to be sure, seeing as she had no experience to draw on. And that was another thing… had she had sex? Was she no longer a virgin? Or was she a virgin who now knew exactly what it felt like to have sex? With her professor…  _Oh gods._

Professor Severus Snape had always been an angry man; very aloof and never friendly. She wasn't even sure he  _had_  friends. After all, it wasn't as if the Order members liked him. But with his guard down, he'd shown her another side of him that she never would have expected to exist. And he had fucked her. There really was no other word for it. Of course, she understood that he was not acting as intentionally as she was; that his mind was making the leaps and jumps that dreams often do. However, the fact remained that what had transpired had not been a mutually agreed upon activity and he had been in complete control.  _Merlin_ , it made her face red just to think about it.

And,  _oh gods_ , what would Harry and Ron think? Hermione gasped into the darkness. Well, she just wouldn't tell them. They wouldn't believe her anyway; she hardly did herself. Professor Snape, the bat of the dungeons, the Greasy Git—her breath hitched—the Head of Slytherin House had dreamt about her last night. And what bothered her most was the fact that that should bother her a whole lot more than it did.

The eerie blue of early morning was filtering through the curtains, now, and once in a while she heard a bird outside. For years, Hermione had striven to impress their surly professor, and he had never once satisfied that desire. But she was beginning to wonder just how much was hidden behind that angry façade, if he could dream up such a thing about  _her._  It wasn't as if he were having a sexual dream and she walked into it, and the jump from nightmare to fantasy was rather large. A hesitant smile slowly grew across Hermione's face.  _She_  had inspired that scenario.  _She_  had saved him from his nightmares. And  _she_  had made him come.  _Oh gods, I made my professor come!_

It should have sickened her, but Hermione found that the grin which stretched across her face refused to fade, and all she could feel was triumph.

…*~*J*~*…

Harry looked dreadful that day. He clearly hadn't slept well, and Hermione felt that she was the one to blame. She had robbed him of his good dreams and given them to Snape. It was completely illogical, of course, but that was the way she felt. Well, now that she'd satisfied her curiosity, she'd have no need to revisit the professor's mind.

By daylight, the dream they'd shared seemed like a faraway fantasy; something she'd imagined that couldn't really be true. Professor  _Snape_ , of all people. She just couldn't believe it. Well, the thing to do, really, was to push it from her mind. After all, he was her professor, and it was better she didn't think about him in that way.

As the days went by, she returned to her routine of dreaming with Harry, and the boy looked so much the better for it. Harry's wellbeing was her top priority, and she was happy to be able to help him. If he wouldn't confide in her, at least she could chase away his nightmares. And for now, that was good enough for her.

But she found that she couldn't keep her thoughts from drifting to Snape's dream. It had been so real. Part of her was drawn to the memory by the pure excitement of having discovered something new. And part of her knew that that excitement came from other, less respectable sources.

She hadn't quite  _enjoyed_  the dream, per se. Obviously, she'd been more or less in a state of panic, at the time. However, she had to admit, she was beginning to enjoy  _thinking_  about it.

There was just something so  _exciting_  about imagining that Snape wanted her sexually. It made her feel powerful in a uniquely feminine way. And as unaccustomed to feeling feminine as she was, the sentiment held her captive by its unprecedented charm. She felt like a child who'd been given her first taste of ice cream. Now all she could think about was getting some more.

_Woah!_   _Let's not get ahead of ourself._ She certainly didn't want  _more._  After all, the experience hadn't exactly been  _pleasant_. That is, it had been rather painful, all in all. Exciting, or not. It wasn't as if she'd had an orgasm, after all. Not that she ever  _had_  had one.

So why was it that thoughts of his naked body above hers-the gleam of arousal in his eyes-the way his lips parted in uncharacteristic pleasure-made her cheeks flush pleasantly and a warm excitement settle in her belly? She knew the feeling and it was uncomfortably similar to the way she used to feel when Ron would smile at her, back in Fourth Year, before Victor, when life was simple.

And what if she  _were_  to reenter her professor's dreams? The mere thought sent a wave of heat across her skin and made her breath hitch, overwhelmed by possibilities. Who was to say he'd have the same dream? Maybe it would be entirely different. She gasped as her mind toyed with the notion. She would be jumping off the cliff, so to speak, giving him the reigns and surrendering to his desires.  _Oh, Merlin._

By the time the next Order meeting came around, Hermione had worked herself into a tizzy. She had replayed the dream so many times that the details were fuzzy and the emotions were dulled, but Snape had become the object of her fantasies, and she'd be seeing him soon.

The hours ticked by and she found herself alternately pacing her room and pretending to read in the kitchen while acting as casual as possible and waiting for  _him_  to arrive. As it happened, of course, she was pacing in the kitchen and trying to decide if she shouldn't hide in the library—but part of her desperately wanted to see him again, for reasons she couldn't possibly name—when he suddenly appeared in the doorway.

She didn't…  _squeak_ … exactly… It was more of a startled gasp—complete with flinch and rapid blush. Her cheeks were hot, but she met his eye as he lifted one disdainful brow. "Feeling a bit… on edge… today, Miss Granger?"

It was remarkable. How did he manage to pretend so perfectly that he hadn't shagged her in his dreams just a week ago? It was enough to make her wonder if he really had. There was nothing in his manner or his face to suggest that anything had changed at all, which unnerved her more than she was willing to admit. Did he often have such dreams? Ridiculous. Of course, she was no Occlumens, and he could probably read her secrets in her wide eyes and rosy cheeks. She reacted instinctively. "Must you  _always_  sneak up on people? You might have given me a heart attack!"

Snape's expression darkened and he advanced on her, trapping her against the table in one fluid motion that had her gasping for breath. She seemed to shrink several inches as he loomed over her in indignation. "You would do well, Miss Granger, to temper your outbursts when speaking to a professor. School may not be in session, but I will not tolerate such disrespect." Hermione couldn't breathe. She had been thinking so much about the man in the dream that she had forgotten who Severus Snape really was. Probably the fantasy hadn't been anything personal at all. She was female. He was male. Perhaps his overwrought mind had taken the opportunity to find a bit of relief, and that was all.

"S-Sorry, Professor," she heard herself say. His nostrils flared, but he seemed appeased by her response; probably just content to see that she still feared him. And then she saw it. For the briefest fraction of a second, his eyes darted down to her chest where the simple cotton of her dress clung to her rounded breasts in a subtle caress. She had chosen to wear the thing precisely for that appeal. But imagining him noticing it and actually seeing it for herself were two very different things. It was the most fleeting of glances. But in that instant, she knew. The dream had been real. Her breath caught and the sudden realization shook her to the core with tense, quaking fire that made her strangely lightheaded. She was suddenly very aware that both of them were remembering it, and her ears began to hum with the tension in the room. She felt like a cornered rabbit. But then, there were hurried footsteps on the stairs and Fred and George appeared, giving Hermione the chance to slip away.

…*~*J*~*…

Severus lingered, for once, after their meeting, taking tea with Remus in the kitchen. Despite his rather hasty and spiteful decision to out the werewolf to the public, Severus found that he did not mind the man's company, most of the time. Years of brewing his Wolfsbane had brought them closer in a subtle, yet integral way. They had established a sort of peace.

After a short while sharing the comfort of the silence, Remus was called upon by Potter to participate in the feeding ritual of the beast in the attic. Severus finished his cup of tea and placed it in the sink before deciding that he, too, should leave. Had he been hoping she'd make a reappearance?  _Foolishness._

But as he swept up the stairs and past the open door of the study, he caught sight of her. There, stretched across a couch, a book resting on her stomach, was Miss Granger. She had not seen him and he took the opportunity to study her while she was unaware. That bushy mane of hair was crushed against the pillows, framing a face that seemed lost in thought. Severus had never seen the girl pay so little attention to a book. Her cheeks were flushed and her lips were parted and he suddenly had the distinct impression that she was actually fantasizing.  _Imagine!_  Granger often seemed lost in thought, but it was usually of an academic nature. To imagine her thinking about such things… well, it was best he didn't imagine it at all.

The soft fabric of her dress—how odd to see her in a dress—draped over her form, outlining the lush orbs of her young breasts, the dip of her stomach, and even the slight curve at the apex of her thighs. Best not to study that too intently, either. One knee was bent, the other stretched out straight, and the skin of her legs had a healthy, summer glow. Severus swallowed. In short, she was beautiful. He was just about to turn away when she released the softest sigh and slowly rubbed her thighs together. His breath caught and his heart suddenly began to hammer in his chest as he felt himself growing hard. When had she become such a woman? When had she learned what it was to want sex?


	3. Chapter 3

It is dangerous for a spy to practice self-deception. In order to lie effectively, one must be entirely honest with one's self. Severus Snape had mastered this skill with brutal self-deprecation. But it took every one of his not-inconsiderable years of practice to grudgingly admit that he didn't despise her as much as he'd like to believe.

Oh, Hermione Granger had certainly caused her share of grief in the Potions Master's life, but he had never truly  _hated_  her. Before she had the misfortune of connecting herself to the Potter brat, Miss Granger had even reminded him—rather painfully—of himself. She'd had no friends to speak of, poor personal grooming, and a predilection for learning unparalleled by her peers. For her—he had known without asking—reading was an escape from the unhappy truth of her own existence. Or at least, that is what he had believed. When she managed to obtain friends—something he had never quite accomplished—books had continued to take precedence. That startling fact unnerved Severus in a way he never could have predicted. Didn't she know that she was being given a chance? Didn't she realize that the doors were open to her, now? That she no longer needed to seek solace in the pages of the written word? She had her chance at freedom, but she chose to live in literature, instead. And what frightened him most was the realization that he likely would have done the exact same thing.

For years, Severus Snape had blamed his loneliness on others. On Lily, to be precise. It had been so much easier, placing blame on some external source. It justified his need to bury his nose in a book and be consumed by another world.

But Hermione Granger's friends never left her; and she never left her books.

Over the years, Severus had noted with irritation—and yes, if he were honest, envy—the way in which the Granger girl's penchant for learning never ceased, was never discouraged, and only ever seemed to grow. No matter how he humiliated her, how her friends teased, how her life progressed, she never stopped being the insufferable know-it-all he had once declared her to be. And he had to admire that fortitude of character. Grudgingly. And only in the back of his mind.

But to dream about her, sexually… was a different matter altogether. Severus had to admit that he had noticed her curvy figure the day he'd had the dream. And he'd be a sorry spy not to notice under the scrutiny to which he had subjected her! The weary man pulled a hand down his face in exasperation. He couldn't seem to close his eyes without seeing her body, stretched out and scantily clad.  _Fuck!_

It wasn't just her body, though. That would be too simple; too easy. If he were honest with himself—truly, painfully honest with himself—he had to confess a certainty that the attraction sprung originally from her mind.  _Yes_ , Merlin revile him for the fool that he was, he admired the girl's intellect.  _Dammit._

Of course, that still didn't change the fact that she was  _his_  seventeen-year-old  _student!_  Disgusting. As rationally as he had analyzed the dream he'd had the other night, he still could not justify it to himself. His subconscious mind should have known better than to torment him with images he could never allow himself to revisit. Much as he wanted to call upon them late at night, as the darkness of his chambers threatened to consume him whole and he found himself finally alone, he could not. Those moments when he was not required to play a part or serve a master, and when he could not yet sleep, all he wanted to do was think of  _her_  and how she'd held him. And how she'd felt beneath him. Oh, how he longed to take himself in hand; to experience orgasm once again; to find relief from the stress of his existence in the thought of her breath on his skin.  _Merlin_ , how he wanted to dream of her again.

For in dreams, he could not tell himself that he was being lecherous and vile. He did not feel the guilt that a waking man feels as he thinks about a student with his hand around his cock. He would not constantly imagine her refusal in every possible combination of words; the more likely responses to his unwelcome advances. For in dreams, she could act on her own. And there, she had not rejected him.

…*~*J*~*…

Hermione found herself, once again, staring down at the little vial of milky liquid. She had not said goodbye to the Potions Master, and he would not be back for another week. But there was one way that she could see him. The trouble was, of course, that would involve stepping into a world where anything was possible; not unlike burying herself in a book. But here the stakes were real; or at least they seemed to be. After all, she hadn't actually died the night he dreamt of killing her. It had only felt as if it must be real.

Yes, she told herself, she could enter his dreams as she would a book and none of the consequences would follow her. It was just a dream. And she would see her professor. But why was it that she  _wanted_  to see her professor? She would be lying if she said she didn't hope that he touched her as he had the time before. But why him, then? She could dream with Ron and he would certainly be willing to enact the scenario with her. What was it about the dark, tortured man that made her want to slip beneath him in his bed and let him press inside her. She wanted to feel his soul against hers. She wanted to  _mean something_  to him.

That realization caused a flutter of panic inside her. Was this obsession just an offshoot of her need to please him? Could her newly found attraction to the man just be a product of her desire to have his approval? Hermione took a few deep breaths and then allowed herself to concentrate on the man, himself.  _Why is it that you like him, so?_

He was mysterious, that was a certainty. Incredibly intelligent and learned, obviously. And mature, in a way that the boys in her class couldn't be. He was quiet and serious and tucked away all of his emotions from the light of day. But she knew that they were there. She had seen them. She had seen him vulnerable in his fear and pain and  _ecstasy_. And she wanted to see it again. She  _craved_  that secret touch; the window into his soul. She wanted to revisit him, in the only way he would allow her. She wanted him to let her in, again.

And so she took the potion.

There was grass beneath her when she landed, this time. The dark of night seemed to suck at their souls, and all around them were Death Eaters and headstones.

 _Crucio!_  Screaming pierced the darkness and Hermione rolled over to grab the professor's hand. At once, he stopped. And turned to look at her. And gasped with relief as his eyes fell closed. The darkness of the scene dissolved and suddenly Hermione found herself stretched out on a couch with a book resting on her stomach. For a moment, she thought she had awakened. It only took a glance to recognize the distorted image of the study at Grimmauld Place and the dress she had been wearing earlier that very day. She had not realized he'd seen her lying there, and the thought send a shock of nervous pleasure to her core. She sighed contentedly at this world in which she had dissolved herself. He was standing in the doorway.

'Miss Granger,' his smooth baritone rolled across her skin as he stepped inside the room and closed the door. Perhaps she was seeing what he had wanted to happen today, if only reality were a dream.

'Professor,' she answered, feigning surprise and propping herself up on her elbows. Then inspiration struck and she lowered her lashes at him. 'I was just thinking about you.' She felt, rather than heard, his low growl of arousal as her own body seemed to tense with a sweet ache at the sound.

He was on her in an instant, but she was surprised when he sat beside her on the edge of the couch and stared down into her nervous face.  _Oh gods._  This was the man who dreamt of sex with her, and he wanted it again, she knew. But this time, she wanted it, too.

One graceful hand was lifted to her cheek and she could feel his calluses against her skin. He tilted her chin up to face him and slowly lowered his mouth to hers. She only had a moment to gasp before he caught her in the embrace.  _Merlin._  His mouth felt so remarkably soft against hers and his touch made her heart beat wildly and her body pulse with live electricity. His hand slipped into her hair, holding her captive and Hermione moaned. Yes, she was well and truly under his control, now. Funny, but she wasn't afraid at all.

When his tongue darted out to taste the seam of her lips, she opened for him and allowed him to thrust his tongue inside. He growled with ever more desperate arousal and pushed her farther back against the couch. She felt consumed as his tongue rubbed against her own and his hand trailed a lazy line down her neck to her torso, cupping her breast through the cotton of her dress. Hermione moaned. She had wanted to think that he wanted to touch her there. And yes, he had. But his hand did not stop there. It slipped down the long length of her stomach, briefly brushed the silky skin of her legs, and slipped between her thighs, cupping her mound. She gasped and bucked against his warmth, desperate for more of his touch.

Snape's mouth broke away and reconnected with her neck, sucking and biting the tender flesh there as he pressed his hand between her legs. Her panties seemed to disappear and she could feel his skin against her own. He moaned in desperation and thrust a finger inside. 'A virgin,' he whispered against her neck, nipping her skin with his teeth. She wasn't sure if he was pleased or disappointed. But as his finger slowly penetrated her, Hermione forgot her worries and allowed the sensation to wash over her. The pain was more acute than she remembered, but he was gentle, and his desperation to have her, despite the pain she knew it would cause, sent ripples of pleasure through her body. He added a finger, slowly stretching her as he panted into her shoulder, and began to curve them in just the right way. Pain burst into pleasure and Hermione bucked against his hand.

'Oh gods,' he murmured, 'you have no idea how badly I want you.'

Hermione moaned, this sweet torture was slowly driving her insane. 'I want you too,' she confessed.

He lifted his face to meet her eyes as his fingers gently pleasured her. There was disbelief there, and hope. But overwhelmingly, there was desire. 'Do you?' he asked her. She smiled.

'Yes.  _Please_ ,' and she found that she really did want it. She wanted her professor to fuck her. Whether or not this was a dream.

He slid his fingers out of her and Hermione gasped with fear and excitement when he settled himself between her thighs. They were suddenly naked. Her professor seemed content to take his time, cupping her breasts and bringing his mouth to each one in turn. He wanted to taste her. Hermione moaned, reaching her hands into his hair and holding him against her, arching her back if only to be nearer.

His arm slipped around her waist and the other into her hair as he captured her lips once more and began to press inside her. He froze when he reached the boundary of her virginity, but Hermione, in her excitement, arched against him, begging him to enter. 'Please,' she whimpered into his mouth. He began to pull away and she was momentarily afraid that he would leave her. Then, with one great thrust, he was inside.

She cried out in agony and he softly peppered her face with kisses, a display of sensitivity so at odds with his character that Hermione forgot her pain. She caught his face in her hands and brought his mouth to hers, pushing her tongue between his lips as he rocked against her on the couch. He moaned and she echoed his response.

They began a steady rhythm. Hermione had never felt such pleasure in her life, and the knowledge that he was feeling it, too, made her want to weep with ecstasy. Finally, she was pleasing him. Snape panted above her, increasing the pace until it was almost too much for her to bear. His thrusts grew hard and desperate and he met her eye. She tried to hold it, communicating with him through the haze of pain and pleasure, but a moment of that had him crying out and freezing in place above her as he came. There it was; that glimpse past his masks and shields and lies. Then he collapsed beside her on a couch much wider than the real one and pulled her naked body up against his.

'Don't leave me,' he whispered, and she kissed his shoulder to tell him that she wouldn't. Closing her eyes, Hermione allowed the peacefulness to settle over her and marveled at the feel of Professor Snape's arms around her, naked. She had a sudden desire to see this side of him in real life; to be let past his mask without having to cheat. But that would never happen. If the man knew… if he ever found out… she could not imagine the disaster that would be. So she snuggled up against him as their breathing slowed and their bodies relaxed and Hermione drifted off to sleep.

She woke in her bed at Grimmauld Place, all alone, and began to cry.


	4. Chapter 4

For an entire week, Hermione persuaded herself  _not_  to reenter the dreams of her professor. Much as she wanted to, it would be wrong to neglect her friend, and Harry needed her help. The fate of the Wizarding War was resting on his bony shoulders, and whatever Hermione could do to better his chances, she gladly would. Of course, Severus Snape was important to the Order, too. His work as a spy could very well mark the difference between victory and defeat. But he'd had twenty years more practice than Harry.  _No_ , she told herself sternly,  _Harry needs me more._

That didn't mean she couldn't  _think_  about the Potions Master, of course. When she found herself alone, between books, and when she wasn't worrying about the war to come, Hermione's thoughts always turned to  _him._  At first, she imagined how he would react if she told him the truth. Of course, if she was realistic at all, that was not a confrontation she wanted to have. It was easy to pretend, however, and she often found herself doing just that.  _What if he came to me just like in that dream?_  she would think. Or,  _What would he actually say if I told him that I wanted him?_  But it was no use. These thoughts always turned to lonely skepticism. He would never accept her outside of his dreams. Even if it was really  _her_  he wanted, as opposed to a woman in general, what could possibly make her think that he would want to be with her in truth? She was his student, for Merlin's sake. What would people think?

_It doesn't matter in the dreams. We can do as we please and no one will ever say a word._

The day of the Order meeting, Hermione was beside herself with anxiety. Much as she wanted to see the professor, would that really be wise? After what had happened last time… Hermione's eyes unfocused at the memory. What if  _that_  were to happen again? She was terrified and excited by the notion all at once.  _He's an accomplished Legilimens, you daft twit!_ _What if he saw into your mind?_  Perhaps it was not worth the risk. Besides, seeing him would only make her want to dream with him again, and she really shouldn't.  _One night of the week really isn't so bad_ , she told herself.  _Oh sure, Hermione, just one night of tortuous nightmares for Harry. But that's worth it if you enjoy yourself, right?_ She scoffed angrily at herself for such foolishness.  _Of course, Professor Snape is having nightmares every night, now._ Hope rose within her at the promising argument, but she quickly smothered it.  _You've made your decision and it's no use second-guessing yourself. Besides, the more you dream with him, the more complicated it will all become._ That was true, if nothing else was, so she dropped the issue from her mind.

The meeting stretched on and on as Hermione paced in the hallway at the top of the basement stairs. She had not allowed herself to wait for him in the kitchen this time, but surely there could be no harm in passing by him in the hall. It wasn't as if they would have a chance to speak, after all. She couldn't possibly give herself away.

When the stream of Order members leaving the house commenced, Hermione's heart caught in her throat. What a fool she must seem, standing there in the hallway, waiting for him. What possible reason could she have for doing so? And yet, she couldn't seem to force herself away, foolish as it was. She needed to see him.

The stream slowed to a trickle and Snape had not appeared. Finally, after five minutes of idle pacing, which she had resumed in her anxiousness, she was certain that he would not be coming. After all, the spy did not attend every single Order meeting. There were bound to be a few where he was absent. Her heart sank painfully in her chest, leaving it hollow and disappointed. She swallowed, staring at the front door as if willing him to visit anyway, just because he wanted to. But that was a bit of silly foolishness and she chastised herself for being stupid. Turning away, she jumped back in surprise to find the man in question right before her.  _Sneaky devil!_  "Professor!" she gasped, staring up into his eyes as if there was something more that she might say. He seemed quite taken aback; an odd expression on a face customarily so controlled. They both hesitated, as if waiting for the other to say something until, finally, Hermione came back to her senses and swept past him, mortified. She heard the slamming of the front door before she'd even reached the stairs.

That night, it was harder than ever to keep herself from dreaming with him _._

…*~*J*~*…

_What the bloody hell was that!?_  Severus inwardly raged. He had humiliated himself, staring down at her in as much confusion when she'd merely been startled to see him there! And what had he expected?! That she somehow knew there was something between them? That there, in fact,  _was_  something between them, after all? Well, there was a thought. He stopped his pacing to consider. Could his dreams about her stem from some unacknowledged tension that he was too stubborn and blind to recognize?  _Don't be a fool!_ Yes, he was, indeed, a fool; a hopelessly besotted old…  _Oh no. No, not besotted. I am_ not _besotted with that bushy-haired brat!_

What a fool! Letting one stupid dream have so much power over him... If he  _was_  besotted, he ought to dream about her more, but he hadn't had so much as a glimpse of her for more than a week. It was like having all of the negative symptoms of obsession and none of the good.  _No, oh no, not obsession. I am_ certainly _not obsessed!_  Perhaps the thing to do was simply to put her from his mind. She had been a comforting thought—and nothing more—but he could not afford such luxuries. There was a war at hand and it would not do for him to keep drooling after some schoolgirl all the while. There. That was it. He simply  _wouldn't_  dream about her ever again.

Two days later, he was singing a different tune. Much as he had promised himself not to dream of her, he was still disappointed when he didn't. How was he supposed to force the chit from his mind when all he could think about was why he hadn't dreamt of her again?

Perhaps it was time to try another tactic. Clearly, this one was not producing the desired results. An opposite approach might be just the ticket. After all, objectifying the girl could clear his head of any emotional foolishness while satisfying the urges of his body all the same. Yes, he decided, that was exactly what he'd do.

Severus climbed into bed earlier than usual that night and faced the ceiling with a heavy sigh. Was he really about to do this?  _Oh, as if it's the most despicable thing you've ever done!_ Frowning, he fought off the part of him that felt guilty about it and pinched his eyes shut. Conjuring pictures of her face and body only brought back that swell of shame and Severus angrily leapt out of bed. Heading straight for his liquor cabinet, the old Slytherin didn't both with a tumbler. Instead, reaching for the whiskey, he brought the mouth of the bottle right to his lips and drank deep for several seconds.  _There. That should crush what's left of my principles._

When the whiskey finally ramped up his heartbeat and clouded his mind, Severus climbed back on top of his sheets. Reaching a hand between his legs, he gently coaxed a dozing interest into flame. He sighed, physically and mentally prepared, and closed his eyes. He could see her face, her legs, her luscious breasts, and the delicate curve of her collarbone.  _Your student!_ a voice in his mind insisted.  _No, not my student. Just a woman._

_But she_ is  _your student._

_Well, she won't be for long._  Severus gasped and drew on that thought. It was true!  _And when she's not…_ His mind conjured images of her standing in the hallway at Grimmauld, those dark pink lips parted in surprise. How would those lips look wrapped around his cock?  _Delicious._  He thought about that day in the kitchen, when he'd trapped her against the table. The way she  _smelled_. He'd been so close that had he leaned forward, their bodies would have touched. Severus groaned at that thought, remembering the way he'd dreamt she'd feel. The soft cotton of her dress clung to her body, showing off those magnificent breasts. Her face was flushed and her expression dazed as she stretched out on the couch. Those perfect thighs rubbing together in secret arousal. He wanted to be the one to satisfy that urge.

Severus cried out, coming hard as he imagined pleasing her; her innocent face contorted with ecstasy at his hands. And then, panting into the night air as he came down from his orgasm, the fantasy was suddenly gone. And he was cold. Loneliness consumed him as it had not in some time and he belatedly understood his folly. The quenching of his long-stagnant arousal had not been the addiction he'd incurred. It had been that comfort she had offered; something denied him for so long. And as he lay there all alone, sated and spent atop his sheets, he had never wanted her more.

…*~*J*~*…

Two nights before the next Order meeting, Hermione succumbed to her own desires. She had been arguing with herself all week, but it just couldn't be avoided forever. The longer she denied herself, the more desperate she became; like a beggar who had never known hunger before. She  _needed_  to dream with him again. And so, tempting fate, she tossed back the vial and promptly collapsed atop her sheets.

The scene that enveloped her was one of panic. Everywhere, there were people, giants, werewolves, and monsters of every kind. And they were running and shooting hexes at each other from every angle. On instinct, Hermione ducked and reached for her wand, but it was not there. It was then that she recognized the castle in the distance: Hogwarts. They were at Hogwarts. If Professor Snape was having nightmares about a war on Hogwarts' grounds, that could not possibly be a good sign.

And there he was, the man himself, casting curses and dodging spells with the rest of them. His face was angry and his robes swept around him as if caught in some invisible current of magic. She was in awe.

When he caught sight of her, his concentration dropped, but no one took advantage and he remained unscathed. Suddenly, it seemed as if attacks were coming from everywhere and Hermione's professor ran toward her. "No!" he cried, shooting off hexes as he did so. And then he did the strangest, most irrational thing. He threw himself on top of her, curling his limbs around her as if to shield her from a blast. It seemed as if they were being pounded by various spells and physical blows and Hermione knew it was time for a change of scene. Remembering her reading, she closed her eyes and told herself that they could Apparate from there; that the Wards had been let down. And she grabbed his hand and took him to the first place that came to mind: Grimmauld Place.

They landed on the staircase near Mrs. Black's portrait and Hermione marveled that this particular part of the house was what defined it in her mind. It made sense, she supposed, as the old harridan's anti-mudblood screaming was what made her dread visits to the Black residence.

Professor Snape was staring down at her with a look of intense concentration and Hermione startled. She had not been alone with him in so long and now here he was, studying her, waiting for her to say something. It was just like the other day in the hall, except that she was up a flight of stairs. In fact, the bedroom that she shared with Ginny Weasley was on the very next landing. She could take him there. But she had never been the one to act first. Usually, she simply allowed his fantasies to play out with her as a willing participant. Initiating fantasies of her own seemed almost like a trespass. And yet, there she was, taking his hand and leading him up the stairs.

He followed readily, greedily, his eyes tracing down her curves. The room was exactly the way she had left it and part of her secretly admitted that she wanted to have a memory of him in here to think about when she couldn't get to sleep at night. Hermione led him to her bed and he sat down, leaning back on his hands and staring up at her. "Miss Granger," he drawled in a questioning tone.

"Professor?" she responded, stepping forward to stand between his knees.

"Is this supposed to be your bedroom?"

"It  _is_  my bedroom," she answered with a grin, catching his chin in her hand. He turned his face into her palm and caught the tender flesh between his teeth before lifting a hand to her wrist and pulling her slowly down onto his lap. They were face to face; wide brown eyes meeting calculating black ones. Before she could so much as blink, they were under the covers together, naked, and he was between her legs. The dome of blankets cast a deep blue hue across their faces as he met her mouth in an anxious gasp. Pale arms wrapping around her frame, he clung to her desperately as he sought to connect them once again.

Hermione whimpered as he pushed himself inside of her once more. The pain was biting, but the ache it quenched was even greater and her head fell back in ecstasy. She wrapped her legs around him as he sought relief against her skin. He was panting hard into her hair, his mouth barely brushing the skin of her neck. Hermione moaned. He was here, now, and she didn't ever want to let him go.

This was not the frenzied sex of the previous two encounters. Her professor was clinging to her and moving slowly as if they had all the time in the world. She found the gentle rhythm oddly pleasant in a way his urgent thrusts last time could not have been. It sent hot flashes across her skin as pulses of desire echoed every gentle move he made. At first, she did not understand why his passion seemed so much more subdued. And then he kissed her neck and squeezed her in his arms, and at last she understood. He was not simply enjoying her body as she had originally thought. No, it was much more than that. Even if it was only a dream, her heart soared and her pulse quickened as the Head of Slytherin House made love to her.

Hermione lifted herself to meet the thrusts of her professor, gasping when the resulting shock of pleasure was doubled. She began to meet him thrust for thrust, whimpering as the friction fanned a fire in her groin. Her professor pulled away to meet her eyes, clearly shocked to see her behave this way. "Please," she begged when his motion slowed, and it was as if a switch had been flipped. His eyes caught fire and he growled low in his throat, grinding hard against her, only barely quicker than before. The fierce desire in his eyes was like kindling on the fire deep inside and she was soon squirming beneath his touch, desperate for some way out of this sweet torment.

"Yes," he growled in a voice harsh with passion. "Come for me," he told her, the eagerness in his voice and in his eyes. " _Hermione_."

Hermione's breath hitched at the sound of her name on his lips and a joy filled her with sudden urgency that seemed to break apart her seams. Suddenly, she was bursting into flames, surges of hot pleasure pulsing in violent waves of ecstasy. She hardly heard herself cry out in harsh surrender to the force of her release. And as she came down, he was pounding into her with such intensity that she thought she might explode all over again. His mouth was slack and his eyes were fixed on hers in an expression of aching desire. This time, when he cried out, she knew what he was feeling.

He was cradling her head in his hands as they panted into the darkness beneath the sheets. Hermione would never forget the way he looked at her. Then, before her very eyes, the dream changed shape again. She was curled up by his side, sheets drawn up under her arms as she toyed with the hair on his chest. And they were no longer at Grimmauld Place, but in a room she did not recognize. It was dark and sparse and everything the Potions Master's bedroom ought to be. She remembered the way she had wanted to see him in her own bed and thrilled at the thought that he might have been thinking the same. For a moment, it almost felt as if he had woken up and she was there beside him. The thought made her lonely, somehow. After all, whenever he did wake up, he would be all alone.

And so would she.


	5. Chapter 5

Oh, she had gone too far this time. There was no going back. Now it was personal, and he didn't even know.  _How could I have been so_ stupid!? She had taken advantage of her professor, plain and simple. They were involved now. And yet, they weren't.

But they were.

She had gone about it all wrong! Now she knew she had to be with him, but she couldn't start anew without concealing this entire episode from his keen eyes. And yet, how could she start anything with him, anyway? He was her  _professor!_  It was all a big mess. And he didn't even know! That was the worst part. She had gone and ruined everything that ever could have been between them, and he didn't even know she'd done a thing. For all he knew, he'd begun having dreams about a student. Did he fancy her? Why didn't he seem more guilty? Maybe it wasn't as personal as it seemed.

Oh, but it was. Their last dream together had not been about relief. They hadn't just had sex. They'd made love to one another. And  _he_  had initiated that. Gods, he had made her come, and it was so much more amazing than she had ever imagined it would be. He had been so gentle, so caring. He had  _wanted_  to pleasure her, to watch her break apart as she had seen him do. The thought sent a shiver down her spine. She could still picture the raw ecstasy in his eyes as he'd watched her come apart beneath him; the way he'd thrust against her with a passion that her image had inspired.

Thinking about the dream made a fire sparkle deep inside her. She stretched out on the bed, closing her eyes to better remember the blurring details. She had revisited the memory so many times that she wasn't sure what was real and what she'd made up in her head. Of course, none of it was really real, was it? Oh, but it was.

If she concentrated, she could still feel him against her, pressing slowly into her as he kissed her neck. His calloused fingers felt so forbidden against the soft skin of her breasts. No man had ever touched her there. And she wanted more. She wanted to feel his hot tongue against her collarbone, his long hair tickling her cheek. She wanted to bury her fingers in that infamous hair and hold him tight against her. She wanted to never let go.

Warding the door to the bedroom she shared with Ginny, Hermione decided to experiment. The other girl was downstairs fawning over Harry, anyway, so she was unlikely to be interrupted. Still, she was hesitant. She'd never done this before.

Closing her eyes, Hermione imagined that her hands belonged to her professor. She started off slowly, teasingly, sliding her fingers up the length of her other arm. She pictured the ardent fire in his eyes as her fingers danced uncertainly across the exposed skin of her throat. Her breathing grew heavy as she let those fingers slowly dip down, caressing her collarbone, itching to cover her breast. But still she teased herself, shyly building the suspense as she pictured her professor. When she finally cupped herself, Hermione gasped aloud, arching her back with desire. She pinched the prominent nipple through the fabric of her dress and let her other hand slip languidly down between her legs.

Did he think she was beautiful? Did he want to touch her again? Did he think about the dreams as often as she did, touching himself with desire? She gasped to imagine that he did. Slipping one finger beneath the waste band of her knickers, Hermione was surprised to find herself so wet. She moaned at the contact, allowing herself to wonder what Severus Snape would think. Intellectually, she understood that her tight, wet sheath could provide the perfect pleasure to the over-critical man. She had seen firsthand how his normally scowling features fell slack with ecstasy as he entered her. She moaned at the thought, exploring her tender flesh and imagining it was him.

She remembered how he had wanted to watch her come. What would he think if she told him she'd touched herself to his memory? And did he touch himself to hers? Her fingers found a sweet spot and she groaned. He was on top of her, rubbing against her, thrusting his tongue into her mouth. He was overcome by desire, knowing it would hurt her, but wanting her anyway. Hermione was beginning to pant. By some instinct, she rolled onto her stomach and rubbed herself against her hand. She imagined him sitting in the corner, watching her display, telling her that when she came it would be his turn. She imagined him stretched out in his bed (the bed he had shown her in his dreams) touching himself at that very moment and thinking the exact same thing.

She imagined walking up to him at the next Order meeting and telling him then and there. Maybe he would be excited by the truth. He had to be. There was something deep between them that he couldn't just deny. And when she told him the truth, he would have to be aroused. He would know for sure that she really wanted him. That her body could be his if he only said the word. And maybe he would. Maybe he would whisk her away to some romantic place. Or maybe he'd be impatient. They could steal away to her bedroom here. Right here. And he would cover her body with his; too aroused to be patient. And he would distract her with kisses as he pressed between her thighs, seeking her moist entrance with desperation and thrusting deep inside.

Hermione cried out into the empty room, pressing hard against the heal of her palm. The fire inside of her flared hot, rushing through her veins in pulsing shocks of pleasure. She rocked against her hand until the sensations died away, leaving her limbs weak and tingly and her mind unnervingly clear. Immediately, the shame of what she had done fell over her. The poor man didn't even know that she had done this to him, and here she was fantasizing about him. She had used him. She had taken advantage. What sort of pathetic twit would he think she was if he found out? He would be revolted!

Hermione groaned and rolled onto her side, pulling her knees to her chest and squeezing her eyes shut against the shame.  _What have I done?_  she wondered.  _What have I gotten myself into?_

…*~*J*~*…

The next Order meeting found Severus contemplating his hands and ignoring what everyone else had to say. A certain bushy-haired Gryffindor sitting on the opposite end of the long table had all of his attention. She had been silent the entire time, hardly moving, almost as if she were aware of his scrutiny. Of course, that was absurd. This whole thing was absurd! It had gone too far, and he didn't know how to reign it in.

What would the girl think if she knew about his dreams? They had become so real to him that it felt like an invasion of her privacy, somehow. It was almost as if he were carrying on a secret love affair with her. But that just wasn't true. She had become the unwitting object of his newfound desire, and she would be disgusted if she knew. And would she be wrong? What sort of lecherous old fool was he to dream about the girl? She was his student, half his age, beautiful and talented and smart. She had a brilliant future ahead of her and he would be lucky to survive the War. Even if he did, he would never live up to the prodigy everyone expected her to be. It was ridiculous even to consider. To her, he would always be the greasy old Potions Master, patronizing everything that made her beautiful and angering her friends. It was best he put her from his mind.

And yet, when the meeting was adjourned and she did not leave, Severus found himself accepting Remus's offer of tea. He just couldn't bring himself to leave her presence quite yet. After all, their time was running out. There would likely be only one more Order meeting before the next school year began. And then it would be no more dresses.

Not that he only liked her for her dresses…

_Oh, Merlin, I'm pathetic._

As Remus handed him a steaming cuppa, Potter said goodbye to Albus and strode right over to Hermione- _Miss Granger!_ "I dreamt about you again last night, 'Mione," he said. Something about the way the girl froze at his words made Severus tense with suspicion as well. Remus was asking him about the semester to come, to which he gave an appropriately succinct response, all the while listening to the girl's reply.

"Oh?" she said, sounding vaguely interested as she hid behind her own hot cup of tea. "What was it about?"

Potter shrugged. "Not much, really. We were practicing for our Potions NEWT."

Mr. Weasley snorted his pumpkin juice at that. "Sounds more like a dream 'Mione would have," he said.

It was alarming to see the girl blush. "Well," she huffed, seeming at a loss for something to say, "perhaps it's your subconscious mind trying to tell you that it's about time you took your studies seriously."

" _Merlin_ ," said Weasley, "I'm sorry, Mate. It's bad enough having 'Mione tell you that all day. Now your  _subconscious_  wants in on it, too?"

"Hermione's right," Remus interjected. His sudden involvement in the Trio's conversation effectively drew Severus into it, too. Quelling an unexpected surge of nerves, he took a long sip of his tea. "Your dreams often bring up the subjects you've been avoiding during the day," the werewolf explained. "It's natural for you to be concerned about your NEWTs."

"Actually, it was a pretty pleasant dream," Potter responded with a frown. "I'd much rather dream about Potions than… some other things." There was an awkward silence before the boy spoke again, seeming to want to steer the subject away from the uncomfortable topic. "Anyway, it's strange. I've dreamt about a different subject every night this week. It's like I'm following one of your study charts, Hermione. Almost like you're planning my dreams, yourself…"

As if on cue, the girl yelped in pain, evidently having spilled hot tea in her lap. Severus was very still. Suspicion prickled the back of his neck as heat rose to the surface of his skin at the very thought. He had had dreams of the girl, too, of late. Dreams that had helped him overcome his own nightmares. It was almost too coincidental. But maybe he was just being paranoid.

"As thrilling as this conversation is," Severus drawled, standing in reaction to a sudden need to escape, "I have more important matters to attend to." Setting his nearly empty cup on the saucer, the Potions Master swept from the room.

He was nearly to the front door when a sudden thought made him stop in his tracks. He turned to inspect the stairway, terrified when he found it identical to the one in his last Hermione dream. Of course, that was perfectly explainable. Although he had never given the staircase much thought, he had certainly passed by it enough times to reconstruct it in a dream. What he hadn't observed for himself, however, was the room at the top of the first landing.

For a solid minute, he was frozen in place, staring up at that door in terror and curiosity. He had to know, but he didn't want to take those steps to do so. Everything hinged on such a simple thing.

 _Oh, what sort of fool am I?_ Was he really so desperate that he was now hoping to believe his dreams were somehow real? What did he expect to find? That Miss Granger was some sort of brilliant dream-Legilimens? That she was a nightwalker who could step into another person's mind? Even  _he_  didn't know how to do that and  _he_  was on a level with the Dark Lord and Albus Dumbledore.

And yet… the door was there. The answers were kept behind it. All he had to do was climb those stairs and look inside, and he would know for sure. Every second that he waited made it more likely that the occupants of the kitchen would let out and he would be caught in the act. He had to do it now. Or never.

Severus's wand hand twitched; a nervous tick of his. The question was: did he really want to know?


	6. Chapter 6

_Pathetic! Absolutely ridiculous!_  Severus kicked one of the chairs at his small kitchen table before leaning heavily against the smooth surface.  _Maybe I should have looked…_ But thoughts like that just wouldn't do. Spinning around, he twisted his hands in his hair in frustration and headed over to the sideboard. How did he ever become so unhinged? Was he going mad? Was this War finally driving what was left of his sanity away? So what if the boy was having dreams about her, too? The word for that was  _co-in-ci-dence!_

Severus threw open the cabinet and stared blankly at the nearly vacant shelves. In his most recent Hermione dream, she had taken him to her bedroom at 12 Grimmauld. The real hallway looked exactly as it had in the dream, but he had never entered her actual bedroom. Doing so would have proven once and for all whether or not the real girl had somehow gotten into his mind. So, why exactly hadn't he gone and checked? Insane or not, he could have put the whole matter behind him. It was illogical not to disprove his mad fantasies immediately.  _Maybe I don't want to disprove them._ Yanking a box of Muggle cereal out of the cupboard, Severus stomped over to the fridge. This child's breakfast of a supper was shamefully sad for a Potions Master of his skill level, but he just didn't have the time or energy to care for himself properly nowadays. Anyway, this had been a favorite brand of his when he was a child, back when life was simple.

The wooden chair was as hard and unforgiving as his childhood. He stooped over the bowl of soggy processed oats and let his thoughts ring out in the silence. He would just forget about her. It had gone too far and that couldn't be helped, but it would just have to stop. Anyway, the term would be beginning shortly, and he would return to the familiar role as the girl's Potions Master. He would just have to pretend that none of this ever happened.

The soggy oats did not assuage his hunger. Perhaps that was because this hungry feeling did not originate in his stomach. An ache was growing inside of him; an emptiness at the thought of letting this summer be a memory. He didn't want to forget. But he couldn't go on believing that there was anything more to it than that. If only there were some way he could let it be fantasy and nothing more. It needn't involve the girl at all. The real girl, anyway. She was a completely separate entity.

But was she? Hermione Granger may not have truly pressed her body close against his and come apart at his passionate touch, but she was still the one who inspired such thoughts in him. It was her body, her mind, her spirit and unabashed enthusiasm that had first drawn him to her; that drew him to her still. No matter how much he tried to tell himself that these fantasies were not of her, he did not believe it. And that brought home an awful truth.

He fancied her.

Oh gods, good Merlin, he fancied her. Severus squeezed his eyes shut against the shame. How could he have fallen into such a fool's trap once again? He had hardened his heart long ago against such nonsense. And here she was unwittingly melting him down. What was it about her that made him wish that he could see her even now? What made him think that she could somehow fill the growing void within him?

It was absolutely, undeniably, irrefutably ridiculous.

…*~*J*~*…

_Oh Merlin, you've done it now, Hermione._ Harry had just about thrown all of the clues right under the Slytherin spy's overlarge nose. There was no way he didn't suspect her now.  _Cutting it close, Hermione._ She should have drawn the line by now.

The young Gryffindor groaned, pressing a hand against her eyes. She was sprawled out in the library of Twelve Grimmauld, one leg dangling off of the couch. He had dreamt of her here. Sometimes, she liked to come here just to close her eyes and imagine that he was beside her.  _Ridiculous!_  If the man knew what she thought about him… if he had any idea what she had done… was it possible to die of humiliation?

It had all happened so gradually! Where had she gone wrong? There must have been a moment when she should have stopped herself, and she just hadn't. She had kept on with her foolish plan until all there was left to do was avoid the man and pretend it never happened. She didn't dare dream with him again, for he would surely know. This was a girl who knew when not to press her luck, and that was now.

For the remainder of the summer, Hermione refrained from dreaming with her professor. It was nearly impossible and her resolve almost broke when he didn't attend the last Order meeting. She was crushed and beside herself with frustration, desperate for just one glimpse of the man to keep her from slipping into his dreams. But he did not appear.

The school year began and everything returned to a semblance of normalcy. Hermione was the top of the class, Harry planned with Dumbledore and played Quidditch with Ron, and Professor Snape deducted points from Gryffindor. If every now and then he looked with her strangely… if his eyes seemed to rest too long on her face… it was surely a product of her own clawing desperation to see the Severus she knew. She worked hard. She helped Harry. They prepared. And all the while a clock seemed to be ticking. A choice had to be made; a choice she was putting off for later. If he was ever going to know the truth, she would have to tell him soon. The War was coming, after all, and one or both of them might die.


	7. Chapter 7

The heavy pulsing of her heart hammered in her ears as she ran through the halls. She had been in the library when the blast had shaken the castle to its foundations. Books had been thrown from the shelves. And now she was running, faster and more desperately than she had ever run in her life. Fear surged through her veins, strengthening her legs while stripping her of physical sensation. She felt stronger than humanly possible and more fragile than she'd ever felt before.

They had expected this for days. Professor Snape had apparently returned from a night with the Death Eaters having witnessed a new Prophecy. Voldemort had a seer by the name of Mithrael, and nearly a week ago he had foretold that the fate of the Dark Lord would be determined in seven days time. Paranoid as he was, Lord Voldemort had immediately made plans to be the deciding factor.

The castle shook again as Hermione leapt down a short flight of stairs, and she crumpled to the floor, nearly twisting her ankle. "Shite!" She needed to be more careful! Screams came from up ahead in the Entrance Hall. The younger students had been evacuated days ago, leaving only those willing to fight.

Suddenly an icy voice was echoing through the halls. " _Ssend out the boy!_ " Hermione stumbled to a halt at the top of the marble stairs as terror sent a freezing knife down the length of her spine. For a moment her breath wouldn't come, and she pressed a hand against her chest. This was it. It was really happening. She had to find Harry!

Just then, a dark silhouette appeared in the corner of her eye. Professor Snape strode out of the entrance to the dungeons and hurried toward the double doors. Her heart nearly stopped. The dark professor had outed himself to Lord Voldemort by bringing them news of the Prophecy. They couldn't hide their preparations without keeping the students at school, and Dumbledore had decided that they no longer needed a spy. That made Snape a prime target for the Death Eaters now outside their gates.

"Wait!" she heard herself shout. Her legs gave a jolt and she was running down the stairs. "Professor!"

And he stopped, swinging around so quickly that she nearly collided with him. The sudden proximity took her breath away. She had been wanting to tell him the truth all week, knowing that the end was near. And she hadn't been able to. But now was her chance! They might be dead by the end of the day! If he was ever going to know, it would have to be now.

And yet the words wouldn't come. And he stood staring down at her, his mouth agape, his eyes alert, his breathing rapid and deep. It was a wonder he didn't shout at her to say she was wasting his time. And she knew she couldn't tell him right now. She couldn't distract him with thoughts about her as they charged out into a War. Was she really so selfish? No. More than anything, she wanted this man to be safe, to survive to hear her confess. She'd rather him live than know the truth, and this was her best chance of getting them both. " _Please_ ," she said instead, wanting to put into words her desperation for him to stay alive, "be careful."

He froze, his eyes suddenly blank, his lips parted, his posture tense, and she realized that if she stayed another second she'd have to tell him the truth. So she ran. She ran past him and into the sunlight, toward the crowd of students and professors who were pointing their wands toward the sky. The wards of the school were visibly cracking above them and the gods only knew what sort of hell would break in.

Thirty-three minutes. That was how long it took them. Thousands of years of layer upon layer of magic was cracked in just thirty-three minutes. The following chaos was like nothing she could have anticipated. They had giants and werewolves and vampire bats, but worst of all were the wizards, themselves. Death Eater masks glinted at her from every angle as they slashed with their wands and charged toward the castle. She had never realized how hard it would be to aim at a moving target.

Professor McGonagall was standing to her right with Neville and Parvati on her left. They did not speak to one another, but silently agreed to watch each other's backs. Somewhere she could hear Kingsley Shacklebolt shouting, "Aim for Death Eaters! Werewolves don't have wands!" And so they did. They held their ground as the dark wizards charged toward them shooting hexes of different colors. They fell into a rhythm, each pair taking turns to attack and block hexes. They were keeping the Death Eaters back!

The giants were slower. Their steady, unstoppable advance was like an omen on the horizon. It was only a matter of time before they got close enough to do damage. And how could they possibly be stopped? "Arthur, Remus, guard Filius!" Kingsley shouted. The small Charms professor was standing strong with his wand still pointed at the sky. But he was no longer holding the wards together. Now, he appeared to Conjuring clouds. Spirals of icy blue swirled through the air ten feet above their heads, spiraling outward across the expanse of the lawn. When it touched the skin of the advancing giants, at the level of their chests, they began to groan, collapsing onto their knees and attempting to breathe. It was horrible.

Then, through the screaming, that voice rang out again, "Come to me  _Potter!_ " She hoped that Harry was safe within the school; that Dumbledore had thought to confine him. And then she saw the old Headmaster, himself. He had gone farther into the melee than anyone else and appeared to be wielding a whip of fire. The bodies of those foolish enough to approach him lay scattered in a circle all around.

Suddenly a stream of black smoke streaked across the sky, honing in on Dumbledore. Hermione's breath caught in her throat and her heart skipped a beat as she expected to see the Headmaster engulfed in an explosion. But the explosion did not come. The smoke settled easily to the ground before him and materialized as Lord Voldemort, himself.

Hermione had never seen the man in person before and was struck by horror at the knowledge that this was  _him_. As much as she had attempted to train herself out of her petrifying fear of the man, he still managed to evoke that response. And his image only made matters worse. How could she persuade herself to remember that he was a mortal man when his serpentine features and bright red eyes were the vision of a monster from the nightmares of her childhood? A monster… she suddenly remembered… who dwelled in the dreams of Severus Snape as well.

A flash of red and a buzzing in her ear sent Hermione reeling as the side of her face burst into pain. She cursed and quickly oriented herself toward her attacker as a new panic stabbed into her. That momentary distraction could have cost her her life.

She could have  _died!_

McGonagall gave her the most cursory of glances, her eyes alight with terror for the briefest of passing thoughts. And then both witches returned to their casting. Deflecting attacks was easy at this distance, but that worked in both directions. As a team, they sent out attacks immediately after shields, following the reflection back to its origin.

But the Death Eaters were advancing faster than they could hold them back. For every body thrown backward, there was another hurtling toward them out of nowhere. And for every one they got, they were farther and farther behind. They couldn't keep them back much longer. They were coming! They were getting close! They were breaking past them and running toward the school!

All hell broke loose. With enemies on either side, Hermione turned her back toward her professor, whipping her head from side to side to judge the most immediate threats and stop them advancing. Neville and Parvati had done much the same thing, and she could see the panic in Neville's wide, green eyes.

They were going to lose.

As soon as the thought occurred to her, a sudden lull rippled through the cacophony, as if everyone had taken a simultaneous breath. Her gaze caught upon the image of the Headmaster falling, as if in slow motion, as shards of glass danced in the air around the dueling wizards. A cruel laugh wrought the air as she assessed their situation. It was over. Dumbledore was dead. They were surrounded.

" _No!_ " Harry's voice broke out across the lawn. She turned in time to see him running through the battling yard, pulling out his wand.  _No!_  Her eyes darted to Voldemort as his wand arced through the air and a jet of green erupted from the tip.

"No!" she heard herself scream, mindlessly running toward her friend as an answering jet of red connected with the killing curse mid-air. Time seemed to stand still as the two curses fought against each other, battling to be the one to make contact with its target. She had never seen anything like it! Suddenly, from between the two jets of light erupted a fountain of sparks, enveloping the two wizards in a sort of force-field of light. And then what felt like a train slammed into her in a flash of light and there was a feeling of nothingness before everything went black.


	8. Chapter 8

Something was broken. Some part of his ankle, perhaps. But that didn't bother Severus. Right now, he couldn't feel. His world had been reduced to one simple task: searching for Hermione.

The ground was littered with bodies. He limped past them. Some of them may have still been alive, but he didn't care. Someone else could tend to them. He was not their hero. No. His eyes were peeled for frizzy brown hair and the slender form of Hermione Granger.

She was not among the living. Those standing had been accounted for. Nor was she among the dead. The lines of bodies stretched the length of the Great Hall. She was not one of them. And he had stumbled his way through the cots in the Hall where the sick lay begging for mercy. She was not there. But bodies littered the grounds of Hogwarts, and she might be one of them.

When he saw her-that hair was simply too unique to be passed over-his heart froze hard in his chest with the pain of dread. More than he needed oxygen, he needed her to be alive. And for a moment he couldn't breathe. Suddenly, he was crouched on the ground beside her, pulling her into his lap and leaning an ear over her mouth. Was that the wind or was she breathing? He could not be sure. Two desperate fingers on her neck could not determine a pulse, yet he needed her to be alive.

" _Please, Hermione,"_

He was rocking back and forth when the mediwizards found him. Somehow, his famous dispassionate rationale had deserted him in the face of her potential death. Her body was cold and her limbs were lifeless, but he could not comprehend the terrible thought that she was gone. All he could do was  _hope_  and  _wish_  and  _pray_  to whatever higher power there might be to save this beautiful witch from her demise. He could not accept that she was dead, even in the face of cruel, hard evidence.

They had to pry her from his arms. Somehow, he could not part with her like this. If she were really gone, he had to keep her in his arms forever. Once she was taken, it would really be true. And he could not accept that.

He followed them back to the Great Hall, but at a distance. With his ankle broken (or whatever part it was), he could not match the pace of the fit, young mediwizards. When he reached the hall, she had been placed in line with the rest of the dead. " _No!_ " he shouted aloud, collapsing onto his knees beside her body. To have it confirmed meant there was no going back.  _Oh,_ what he would have done to go back in time and save her from this end. "No!" he heard someone shouting in the distance. "She's not dead!" It was only later that he realized it was him.

Someone was touching her. Someone was lifting her up and pressing slender fingers against her neck. His mind didn't register the person at all, for it was far too intent on memorizing the lines of her bloodless face. Those once ripe lips were thin and pale, but her eyes were mercifully closed. More than anything, he wanted to tell her how he felt for her; he wanted her to know how beautiful she was.

"You're right," a voice was saying. It seemed as far away as home in Spinner's End. "She isn't dead." But he did not comprehend. Countless deaths he'd seen over the years, but hers was different. He couldn't accept it because he had to believe it wasn't true. Everything hinged on her being alive. If she were dead, he might as well be, too.

Suddenly, she was hovering off of the floor, and he collapsed back in surprise, watching her be lifted into the air, weightless as a ghost.  _No!_  he couldn't help but think, scrambling onto his feet to follow after her. She was assigned a cot toward the left side of the room and a mediwitch began emptying bottles down her lifeless throat.  _Poppy_ , he realized, belatedly. Poppy Pomfrey was taking care of the girl, herself. He wanted to reach out to her, to tell her that there was no use, that the girl was dead, but he so appreciated the extra effort on behalf of the young Gryffindor, that he couldn't bring himself to voice the truth. And when Hermione's body coughed on a potion, choking back into life, he had to lean against the wall to keep from falling to the ground.

After that, everything was a blur of motion and sound. He was taken to a bed to be treated for his ankle (a procedure that lasted something like 4 or 5 seconds), and to stare up at the ceiling in relief as sudden exhaustion overcame him. Finally, it was alright to be absent. The Dark Lord was dead. The War was over. Hermione had come back to life. And he allowed the encroaching darkness to overcome him, pulling him away from the pain of reality, and into the dark anesthetic of the realm of dreams.

…*~*J*~*…

"Severus?"

"Mmm?"

"It's the funeral today. Aren't you coming?"

"…"

"Severus, Albus would have wanted you to be th…"

"Albus wouldn't have given a bloody fuck if I attended." There was a tense pause. "And he certainly won't, now."

Minerva stepped cautiously into the room, moving to stand behind her colleague and place a hand on his shoulder. "Severus, when things begin to settle again, there will be trials. You'll only be hurting yourself if you don't come with me."

"I don't care anymore, Minerva."

The graying witch let out an impatient huff of air. "Severus, her condition is stable. Nothing is going to happen while you're gone."

"She's fading every day. That's what the mediwizards say."

Minerva squeezed his shoulder. "I don't understand, Severus. You never… expressed any concern for her, before."

"Oh, just leave it alone, Minerva! Leave me in peace." With one angry twist, he wrenched out of her grasp.

"Fine. I will leave. But you would do well to consider what I've said."

He did not reply, and with that she left. And he was all alone again. Alone with  _her_. She had not woken up since they had found her, and though the color had returned to her face, it was diminished more every day. There were whispers that it would be merciful simply to let her die. But he wouldn't allow it. He stayed by her side day and night, hardly sleeping, never eating, never giving up on her.

More than anything else, he regretted never telling her how he felt.

"Mr. Snape, sir?" It was the young blonde witch who was training to be a healer, here at St. Mungo. The timid thing had gotten into the habit of leaning around the doorframe, as opposed to entering normally.

"What?" he grumbled. She was as easily intimidated as a Hufflepuff third year, and wore just as many irritating bows in her over-fluffed hair.

"Erm… I'm afraid I need to ask you to leave."

Severus tensed, slowly turning his head to lock eyes with the impertinent girl. If half the anger he felt made it past his exhausted façade, she was sure to surrender on the spot.

Sure enough, her eyes grew wide and watery with fear, and she bit her lip, retreating more fully behind the doorframe. "I'm sorry, sir, it's just… Miss Granger needs to have a sponge bath… else she'll get bedsores."

To his surprise, Severus found himself blushing. "Fine. But be quick about it," he growled, standing so abruptly that he almost knocked over his chair. The girl practically leapt out of his way as he swept from the room.

There was a thought irritating him somewhere in the back of his mind. It was as if, somehow, she had reminded him that he wasn't really intimate with Granger. He had only dreamt that he was. If she woke up- _when_  she woke up-she would wonder why he was there. Would she be disgusted when they told her he'd been watching over her sleeping form? He just couldn't believe that was true.

Thinking back, for the thousandth time, Severus recalled the way she'd run up to him in the Entrance Hall. "Be careful," she had told him. Oh, how he wished he had told her to do so, too. There had to be something more to it than that. Even if it was nothing more than his dreams drawing on the tension that really existed between them. To think that there truly was nothing at all… he just couldn't accept that.

_And what if it was her all along?_  Severus quelled the thought. It was foolishness to consider even the possibility.  _Or is it foolish to discount it altogether?_ He shivered. There was a way to be certain, after all. All it would take was one little glance, and he would know for sure. So, why was he afraid? Did he think that knowing for certain it hadn't been her, that she would die all over again? Or, perhaps, that he would be able to let her go?  _Preposterous!_ After all, his affection for the witch in his dreams rose primarily out of his respect for the girl in his classroom. Even if it hadn't really been her (and it was ridiculous even to think that it might have been), it wasn't as if his feelings would change.  _No, but it will mean that there is no way she could ever be interested in you._

Severus stomped right through a cluster of medi-students on a tour, scattering the irritating hopefuls in a flurry of purple robes. Of course, if it really  _were_  true… if she really  _had_  found a way into his dreams… maybe he could recreate it with her.

Severus stopped dead. The blood drained out of his face, leaving him cold, as his body tensed against the instinct to hope. The idea had not occurred to him, before, but now it seemed so obvious that he cursed himself for not thinking of it earlier. If she  _had_  gotten into his dreams, that might provide the key to waking her up from this perpetual sleep. Even if it was a long shot, she was worth giving it a chance. After all, he would know for sure with just a simple glance into her bedroom at Grimmauld. And if it was true, she was sure to have notes about it somewhere.

Emboldened by possibility, Severus ran. The potential for Hermione's salvation was enough to allow him to hope. He pushed past mediwizards and sick beds, alike, desperate for the Apparition Chamber.

Only when he found himself staring at her bedroom door, did Severus finally hesitate.

This was it. Whatever lay beyond this thin layer of tattered wood would answer his most secret questions with a glance. He could not allow himself to consider the possibility that he was wrong. Not now, when fear was threatening a stranglehold upon him, and the path to Hermione's cure might lie ahead. He pushed open the door.

And froze stiff at the sight that greeted him.

It really had been her. He had been so certain of his own foolishness, that he had to fight through disbelief. Forcing himself to step into the room, he looked around at the familiar surroundings. He knew this place. Hermione had shown it to him.

He stepped over to her bed, reaching a hand out to touch the soft, neatly folded blankets. In the pale blue light filtered through these sheets, he had made love to her. Comprehension attacked him all at once, sending him crumpling to his knees. His heart was torn between rejoicing and despair. Reaching out, he gripped the blankets as if to hold on to her memory. And sudden tears of pain and joy broke out behind his eyes. She really was  _his_  Hermione. And she really was trapped in her own body, slowly dying in a brightly lit hospital bed.

But he was determined to save her.

Her belongings were still at Hogwarts Castle. It felt strange charging up into the Gryffindor girls' dormitories. As a professor, the charm on the stairs did not affect him, but it seemed forbidden territory all the same.

His answer came in the form of an obscure potions manual,  _Recipes for a Wandering Mind._   _Of course!_  He was ashamed that she had deceived him with his own branch of study. Not that he was required, as Potions Master, to know every potion that had ever been invented. But it was embarrassing, all the same. Among an assortment of daydream elixirs, one page had been marked with bits of parchment (elaborate, but useless notes, no doubt). It was exactly what he knew he would find.

The potion was simple enough. It took a week to brew, and in that time, he watched his Hermione fade. There was talk of stopping her treatment out of mercy, but Severus was having none of that. Neither, it seemed, was Harry Potter. The boy had been back and forth between his two best friends since the end of the war (Ron Weasley was conscious, but confined to his bed at the Burrow, where the Boy Who Lived entertained him).

When the healers took Potter aside and explained to him what would be in her best interests, he lashed out and shouted at them that they didn't have the right to do that. By the end of the day, however, he had been subdued. Sitting at the girl's side, he wept over her emaciated frame, clutching her lifeless hand in two of his own.

Severus had come to retrieve one of her long, curly hairs; the last step of his brewing. He hesitated in the doorway, not wanting to confront the Potter boy. And then he saw. The potions on her nightstand had been replaced with flowers, and the healing equipment was all gone. They had given up. The thought was so abrupt and crushing that Severus leaned against the doorframe, pressing a hand to his chest. It was up to him, now. And he needed to hurry.

"What are you doing here, Snape?" the brat spat.

Severus did not answer.

"Here to gloat, are you? Bet you're glad you won't have to deal with her anymore."

Before he knew what he had done, Severus had crossed the small room and backhanded the impertinent twit. The look of surprise on Potter's face would have amused him, but he was far too angry for that. "Check yourself, Potter. I may know a way to save the girl yet." He wasn't sure why he was confiding in the boy. Turning toward the girl, he reached for the dense thicket atop her head. "I only need a few of her hairs."

"What!? No you don't!" Potter shouted, leaping up to block him from his target. "They'll just end up in one of your potions, you  _pervert!_ "

Not knowing how to respond, Severus snarled. "I'm trying to  _help_  the girl! I might know a way…"

"You  _hate_  Hermione! Why would I trust you?"

Refraining from pushing past the arrogant prat, Severus took a deep breath. For Hermione's sake, he could put his hatred for the boy aside. If only for a moment. After all, perhaps it would be useful to have someone standing guard. "She dreamt with you, didn't she?" he asked, his voice low and dark and knowing. Potter's eyes grew wide, but he said nothing. "She discovered a potion that allowed her to step into your dreams." The light of understanding glowed out of those green eyes. "I have developed a batch of this potion and plan to use it to slip into her unconscious mind. If I succeed, I may be able to wake her from within."

Potter lowered his eyes to his professor's chest, seeming to turn over this information in his mind. At last, his brow wrinkled and he met his opponent's gaze. "Why you?"

"What?"

"Why should you be the one to do it? Hermione is my best friend. I should be the one to do it."

Severus snarled at that. "You entitled little brat! Always wanting to play the hero. It will be me because I have the potion, and you do not."

"But…"

"End of discussion! Besides," he added shrewdly, noting the look of rebellion in Potter's eyes, "I need you to guard the girl… be here when she wakes up." He could see his words taking effect as Potter considered.

"Deal," the boy smirked, sticking out his hand. Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Severus took it. Time was of the essence and they'd wasted enough of it fighting thus far.

He leaned over the girl, brushing the curls gently out of her face. He cleared his throat, embarrassed that Potter had to be here. But if he did not succeed, she might be dead by the time he returned. Still, desperation notwithstanding, he was still Severus Snape. It would not do to kiss the girl's forehead, or some other such nonsense. Why he even felt the need to was beyond him.

Plucking one long hair from her bushy mane, Severus enclosed it in a vial and tucked that safely within the pockets of his robes. He bid Potter good evening and good luck and left the hospital room before his fear could overcome him. This had to be done. It would not help her to sit at her side through this long, potionless night, wishing on miracles that she would come through.

There was work to be done.


	9. Chapter 9

For all that he hurried to finish the potion, ladling out a generous portion and thrusting the girl's hair into the glass, Severus hesitated a long moment before actually consuming the thing. What if he couldn't get through to her? What if she simply wasn't there? What if his mind was lost forever in the dying shell of her once brilliant one? He scoffed. That was too ridiculous to be true.

And anyway, Hermione Granger was well worth the risk.

Stripping out of his outer layers and kicking off his boots, Severus climbed into bed and sat staring down at the potion. What could he say to her? What if it was no use? Why did he think he could save her at all?

After all, he was no hero.

But he'd come too far to turn back now. This was not the time for doubts. Steeling his resolve, the Slytherin tossed back the contents of the glass, gulping hard to crush his doubts with the certainty of his decision. And before he could so much as wonder how long it would take, he was suddenly elsewhere, surrounded by darkness on all sides.

There was a feeling of falling. No. Of  _sinking_. It was as if he were being crushed by some invisible force; as if he were sinking to the bottom of the sea. He couldn't breathe. The intangible darkness choked him like a heavy weight, and still he sank deeper. It took a moment for him to realize that she wasn't here. Panic overtook him, then, causing him to thrash about, completely helpless in this vulnerable position.

There was nothing he could do.

But the practiced spy had learned long ago how to calm that instinctive panic. Clamping down on what was left of his control, he steadied himself, counting the heartbeats he could hear instead of breaths. It was then that he realized. Beneath his own quick pitter patter, there was a faint but definite thumping.  _Hermione._  Somehow, he knew that it was her. But she was deep; deeper than he was, even. And he was afraid to follow after her.  _She needs me_ , he reminded himself. And anyway, who better to follow someone down a dangerous path than Albus Dumbledore's Death Eater spy?

Re-orienting himself with sheer will, Severus dove down into the depths of her mind. She was sinking, shrinking, dwindling down to nothing, and it was up to him to pull her to the surface.

The deeper he dove, the warmer he felt, until he could feel her presence all around him. It was odd; an eerie sense that she was there beside him, though no empirical assessment could be made. And somehow he knew that she was unaware of him. She was too weak to pay attention.

" _Hermione,"_ he murmured against the crushing weight of suffocation. Distantly, he wondered if he could die from lack of oxygen, since this was just a dream.

She did not respond, exactly, but a sort of movement in the current drew him deeper still. He flinched when he first felt her; a cold, lifeless body floating curled in on itself. He fought the instinct to abandon the hideous thing.

Instead, gripping her arms, Severus unfolded her stiffening form, pulling her close to him as if to share his warmth. Unbidden, tears pricked at his eyes, and he buried his face in her softly floating hair. " _Hermione,_ " he murmured again, " _Please._ "

To his momentary terror, the girl responded with a weak, but undeniable " _Mmm…_ "

His heart leapt and he held her tighter, desperation fighting with despair. " _Hermione,_ " he told her, " _listen to me. I'm here. Wake up. It's just a dream."_ Bloody hell, he wasn't prepared for this. What else could he possibly do? Maybe if he pulled her to the surface?

Kicking his legs, Severus made as if to pull her upward, but it was impossible to know if it was making a difference. There was no light toward which to swim, nor any other sign to mark his bearing. If anything, it seemed that they were sinking faster than before, tugged down by the invisible hand of hopelessness.

 _But if this is a dream, I should be able to control it,_  he thought. Focusing his will, he imagined clean air and a beach at the surface of her mind. But it was useless. Was it simply a lack of faith? Perhaps if he tried something smaller. If only he could  _see_  where they were. Closing his eyes, he desperately tried to believe that when he opened them, he would see the girl he held. But he was so full of doubt. It took three tries, but on the third he paused and counted the heartbeats and cleared his mind and told himself that when he opened his eyes she would be there.

And she was. And the vision was so horrible that he almost let go of her again.

Though he had imagined the witch who had haunted his dreams, this slender form was that of the emaciated girl whose hospital bed he had tended. She looked like she might have been dead, already. And for a moment, he believed that she was. He had been a fool to come down here! The healers had been right! All they were doing was keeping her artificially alive, long after she had gone. Perhaps it would have been better to let her die on the Grounds of Hogwarts.

But no. He had heard her voice, not long ago. She was not yet gone.  _Something_  of her remained there with him, and it was up to him to wake it.

" _Hermione_ ," he spoke again, louder and more forceful this time. " _I don't want you to die. Come back to me. Open your eyes."_

" _Mmmm,"_ she responded, her eyelids crinkling more, as if reluctant. And suddenly he understood. It was as if she were asleep.

" _Hermione_ ,  _it's time to wake up."_ His mind worked fast, searching for some inspiration. Then, as abruptly as an apple landing on his head, he had his plan. " _You don't want to be late for class,"_ he told her, his heart soaring when she squeezed her eyes shut in consternation.  _"Won't Potter and Weasley be angry when I deduct points? Don't think I won't, Miss Granger."_ He cut off suddenly, as one of her legs kicked out between his two. It was working! " _And if you hurry,"_ he continued, speaking almost automatically, from some deep, instinctual well, " _you might not miss the exam."_ At that, her eyes popped open in bleary surprise and Severus actually laughed. But his humor was quickly cut off by the vacant expression in her eyes.

" _Professor?"_ she murmured, her voice hoarse and weak. " _Where am I_?"

Her use of his title took Severus aback. Suddenly, he realized that she didn't know he knew. " _Miss Granger,_ " he said awkwardly, reverting to formalities to soften the blow, " _This is a dream._ " He stopped at that, unsure what else to say. Perhaps her brilliant mind could extrapolate the painful details. But her eyes told him that she was too confused.

Suddenly, she contracted in on herself, burying her face against his chest and choking on a sob. " _I'm so weak, Professor. I-I think I'm dying._ " Severus had no response to give this chilling revelation. " _I should have been more careful. I just wanted to help Harry."_ The stunned wizard patted the girl on the back. Comforting but pointless words ( _there, there_ ) echoed in his mind, though he had not the heart to voice them. " _I only regret. I regret… never telling you…"_  She seemed unable to continue as weak sobs continued to choke what was left of her voice.

" _I know,_ " he told her.

And at that she froze, tilting her head back to look up at him. " _I-I'm so sorry, Professor. I didn't mean to… it just got out of hand…"_

" _Shhh,"_  he cut her off, placing a finger on her lips. " _Miss… Hermione…_ " He didn't know what to say. How could he explain how he felt about this? How could he tell her in simple terms how he forgave her for lying to him, how he was glad that she had come to him, how he wouldn't trade their dreams together for the world?

" _We don't have time,"_ he told her.  _"You need to wake up. They've taken you off of your potions and don't expect you to make it 'til morning."_

To his surprise, one frozen hand came up to touch his face, and her eyes were so open and sad that he almost looked away.  _"Professor,"_ she whispered,  _"Severus…"_ His breath caught on a knot that had formed in his throat. " _It's okay._ " Severus shook his head, not wanting to understand her meaning.  _"Everybody dies,_ " she whispered. " _I'm just happy that I got to see you… that you know. I'm happy you're safe."_

" _No,_ " he told her in a stern voice that threatened to break, " _I won't let you give up, Granger. You're stronger than this._ "

" _I think I've been holding on,_ " she confessed. " _I just wanted you to know."_

" _Well you're going to_ keep _holding on. You have so much more to do!_ "

" _Severus, it's okay. I got to see you. That's all that matters."_

And suddenly he understood. The crushing, suffocating hopelessness was her acceptance of her own death. She really was dying. Pulling her tight against himself, he hid his tears in her bushy hair. He couldn't leave her like this. If she were dying, he wanted to go with her. There was nothing for him in the world of the living. Not if she was gone.

But then her embrace began to feel weak, as if she were becoming insubstantial. He opened his eyes to see that she was slowly disappearing; fading into nothingness in the depths of the surrounding dark.  _"No!_ " She couldn't leave him like this! She couldn't leave him behind! She couldn't be gone!

He couldn't let her.

" _Hermione! Hermione, please,"_ he begged, " _you're going to wake up. I need you to wake up."_ He clenched his eyes tight, clinging to the feel of her, terrified that he would open them and find her gone.

" _I'm sorry, Severus. I'm just… so weak…"_

" _Please, Hermione! You have such promise,"_ he told her, desperate to persuade her to stay. _"You're going to wake up and finish school. You never even took your NEWTS! Do you know they have bets on you? They have bets about the scores you'll receive. You can't let them down, Hermione. You have to take your exams!"_

" _Mmmmm,"_ she responded.

Panic gripped him tighter than his hold on her. She was fading back into the darkness whence she had come.  _"No! Hermione, you can't leave me! You only just came into my life!"_

There was a gasp and Severus's eyes popped open to see her nearly transparent form. She pulled back far enough to look into his eyes, a wary sort of hope pouring out of her own. It was as if some of the weight on his chest had been lifted. He had her attention. She was focused on him. Instinctively, he knew that he had to hold her there, that if she looked away she would be lost.

" _Wake up, Hermione, and I swear to you, I will do whatever you want._ Anything!  _Do you want books, Hermione? I have thousands of books. You can have them!"_ It was not his imagination that the pressure was lessening, and with a start he realized that they were beginning to ascend. His heart pounded desperately. " _I-I have a private potions lab! You can… share it… with me. And I'll… I'll settle my differences with Potter, if you like. And… and… and I will never deduct another House Point from Gryffindor."_

By now, her eyes were glittering with humor and with life. Yet still she was transparent. And though he was afraid to glance anywhere but into her eyes, he could sense that there was a light above them, growing closer as the heaviness subsided. Tears were running down his face but he held her gaze. They were near the surface; he could feel it.

But then her eyes crinkled with a question and it was as if they had reached the end of a long rope tethering them to the bottom. No matter how hard he hoped and wished and prayed, they ceased any movement toward the surface. Panic seized him and his eyes left hers momentarily, darting up desperately to see the blinding light above. When he turned back to her, she was more faded than before, flinching out of existence for the blink of an eye.

" _Wait!"_ he cried out, pulling her tighter against him, though he knew it to be futile.

" _Why are you saying these things?"_  she asked him, her voice full of doubt. And he knew that his answer would decide.

" _Because… because…"_ his mind was blank with panic.  _The truth!_  his instincts shouted.  _What is the truth?_  " _Because… "_ And suddenly he knew the answer plain as day, and all his panic was washed away. This was not some riddle where the cleverest answer would give him the outcome that he sought. Whether or not the truth brought her back to life, it was the Truth she wanted. It was the Truth she deserved. " _Because I love you."_

At that, her lips broke into a brilliant smile and a tear rolled down her cheek. The rope melted away, sending them drifting upward once again. And she began to glow, still translucent, bright as an angel of mythical lore. Then, in a flash, her brilliance blinded him. And he couldn't feel her anymore. "Hermione!" he cried out into the empty room.

As his eyes settled, he made out the dark silhouettes of his furniture at Spinner's End. With a jolt, he realized that he had woken up. Had he done it? Was she awake? Or had she 'passed on' into the light? His head and heart and body pounded with the need to know the answer, and he flung himself out of bed. In his shirtsleeves and his socks, he threw himself down the stairs and through the front door of his house, stumbling into an alley and Disapparating without a second glance.

The Mediwizards tried to detain him for procedural visitor's paperwork, but he ripped out of their grasp, sprinting through the halls of St. Mungo's toward that one familiar room. Early morning light was only just beginning to filter through the windows of the ancient building. He didn't so much as stop to consider what he might see when he swept through her door.

As it happens, he didn't so much  _sweep_  as hurl himself into the tiny room, noticing at once that a crowd of healers had surrounded her. His heart dropped in dread of what that might mean; and with the twisting stab of hope that she survived.

Pushing through the throng of purple-robed witches, Severus's breath caught at the sight of her open cinnamon eyes. His knees buckled, but he caught himself with an arm on either side of her, knocking Potter off his stool and onto the floor. "You're awake," he gasped, a single tear spilling down his angled face.

"Severus," she whispered, voicelessly. Lifting one trembling arm, she laid a warm hand against his cheek. "I love you, too," she choked out, tears suddenly blossoming from her eyes. And he reacted without a thought in the world, bending to capture her lips with his own; touching her in the simplest, softest way he could, to express the tenderness he felt for her right then. It was like a shock of magic sparked between them, igniting what had been there the whole time. And what he wanted more than anything in the world was to remain in her embrace forevermore.

Someone cleared their throat and Severus jerked away from her, smacked back to reality by the look of shock on the faces of everyone present. Potter's eyes were widest of them all. And when had Minerva come in? Heat poured into Severus's cheeks as the rest of the world returned, and he yanked away from Hermione's sickbed, straightening to his full height and brushing invisible dirt from his sleeves. Belatedly, he noticed his own graying socks peeping out from the legs of his trousers.

Already resenting the attention directed toward him, Severus cleared his throat. "Well, what are you all waiting around for? She'll need some potions, won't she?" At that, the nurses jumped to attention, bringing forth and uncorking various bottles as Severus ranted about irresponsible care-giving and her narrowly-avoided demise.

But when the potions had been administered, and Hermione instructed to rest, Severus lingered in the little room. They hadn't had much opportunity to speak, what with all of the mediwitches fussing over her, and he wasn't sure exactly where he stood. Approaching her sleeping form, he stared down into her peaceful face. He hadn't realized the boy was still lurking in the hall until his voice broke the silence of the room. "So I guess it worked, huh?" Potter said. There was an undertone of controlled hostility, and Severus tensed as if he'd been caught in a trap.

"Indeed," the Potions Master answered. Clearly, Potter was not content, as he dawdled in the doorway, obviously intent on saying more. "Is there a reason you're still here?" the Slytherin growled, hoping to scare off the intruder.

The boy hesitated. "It's just…" he huffed in frustration, "she dreamt with you, too, didn't she?"

Severus did not respond. Such were his instincts not to give up personal information without knowing his enemy's motives.

"Or else," Potter reasoned aloud, "you wouldn't have known how to save her."

Determining that it was safe to confide this much, Severus conceded the point. "Most astute," he said dryly.

But Potter was not assuaged. His concern hung heavy in the air, making Severus tense against possible attack. "I just… wanted to say… I guess… that I'm glad she did… I guess."

Severus was stunned into silence.

"That is… I don't know what you want with her, and I can't imagine she wants it back, but… well… I guess you must care about her to save her the way you did, so… I'm glad. Thank you… I should say…"

"Oh give over, Potter. I didn't do it for you."

The boy had the nerve to laugh at that, ruffling his messy, black hair with a nervous hand. "I know you didn't," he said, "but still… thank you. I mean… I saw the way you looked at her when you came in…"

" _Potter,"_ Severus warned. "Don't you have somewhere else to be?"

"I'm just saying… never thought I'd see  _you_  tear up, Professor."

Severus growled in indignation. " _You little_ …"

"I mean, who knew you were capable of such…"

"Potter!"

"… _tenderness_?"

For lack of words, the Slytherin fumed silently, hunching his shoulders and willing Potter to go away. "Are you finished?" he growled to fill the silence.

Potter didn't answer right away. "I… suppose so. Just… you know…" the boy huffed in exasperation. "I haven't decided how I feel about it," he declared in a rush. "I mean, with everything that has happened in the last few weeks, I don't know how I feel about much of anything. And… well, I'm not just going to forget the way you've always treated us… even if you did save her."

"Yes, and don't expect me to treat you any differently from now on."

Potter grinned vaguely at that. "Merlin forbid," he said in a humorous tone. The sense of near-camaraderie made Severus bristle. He wasn't used to being so subjected to other people's  _feelings_. "Anyway," the boy continued awkwardly, "I guess that's all I have to say for now." He hesitated, but Severus did not offer a response. "I'll just… go, then. If Hermione wakes up, just… let her know that I'll be back. Everyone's waiting for news of her, at the Burrow." Severus grunted in acknowledgement and watched the boy finally leave.

Turning back toward the bed, he let out a sigh. Would she think it was strange if he waited there until she woke? It was terrifying, finally facing his Hermione outside of dreams. What if she pushed him away? He would be humiliated to have shown such desperation. And yet, he couldn't bring himself to leave. Pulling over the little stool, he settled himself stiffly upon it. He didn't have to wait until she woke up, but he also didn't have to leave right now.

Without warning, her eyes fluttered open, and she smiled up at him. The terror must have shown on his face, for she gave a little coughing laugh. "Hello," she whispered, voicelessly.

"Hello," he echoed, immediately feeling foolish when he had. There was a long pause as their thoughts seemed to buzz in the air between them.

She cleared her throat, looking down at her hands. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice still weak after being unconscious so long. He shrugged his shoulders, opening his mouth to reply before closing it again when he had no answer. "I…" she coughed slightly, hesitating before seeming to steel her resolve. "Did you mean what you said? In the dream?"

He could feel the warmth glowing in his face and was not at all sure how to respond.  _The truth_ , that instinctual voice seemed to whisper. After all, the risk was gone. But somehow, not being under pressure to say the right thing made it more difficult for Severus to be honest. All his life, he had perfected the art of never expressing vulnerability. And yet here he was, sitting with the one girl who had ever challenged that (well, the only one since Lily), and he had a sudden strong impression that he was at a crossroads. Perhaps his words to her now  _were_ just as vital as the ones he'd spoken in her dream. Maybe a wrong move would tear apart what they had so tentatively created together. And what fool was he, having pined after her so desperately, to squander this chance to finally have her in truth?

"Yes," was all he said, his voice coming out weaker than he had intended.

She smiled softly, light shining from her eyes as she reached for his hand. He let her take it. "All of it?" she asked.

This time, his voice was stronger and he was more determined of its truth. "Every word," he told her, squeezing her hand almost unintentionally.

At that, her smile stretched wide, and she almost looked ready to laugh. "Excellent," she choked out, "because you made me some promises back there, and I intend to hold you to them."


End file.
